Close Up
by barefoot11
Summary: For Matthew, feelings were never convenient for him. He'd lay awake, restless, thinking of all that should have been done. But the situation that Gilbert brings upon him... is the worst yet. Human named used, Prussia/Canada, song!fic, character death, AU
1. Close Up

It was so late… his jumbled mind had the blurred form of the analog clock jumping around within. He couldn't make it out, but he knew it was late. One in the morning? Two in the morning? Three? The rambunctious laughter around him effectively plucked him from his woes, and he downed the rest of his beer. "Friday, whew!" He shouted, to anyone who would listen, and his words strung together in a tangled mess. With his hair sticking in many directions, and his empty bottle clutched tightly in his hand, he propped himself up on unsteady legs to survey the bar again.

_Is this the feeling of something…?_

Gilbert didn't know if his unreliable brain was conjuring up the right image, but he thought he saw his old friend… talking to a girl… in a group of a lot of familiar, familiar people… He squinted, but it only worsened the view. He shook his head, and raised the glass up high as a lopsided-grin stretched across his lips. "Yo, Roddie! Long time no see." He trotted over, stumbling over nothing once or twice, before he managed to slam his hands on the wooden table. The cups on the surface shook with the force. He made his misted eyes find bluish-purple ones. Were they blue? Or purple? He swore he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to care. A hiccup came out of his mouth before words did. "Dude, whatcha been up to?"

…_about to happen?_

* * *

Lately, Matthew hadn't been sleeping well. His thoughts tripped over vague and disturbing images from his past, guilty notions that had never been soothed, and his own regrets. Pulling his pillow over his head, he let out a long groan before realizing that, once again, it would be a sleepless night. He rose, however hesitantly, and felt the cold surroundings make goose-bumps rise on his skin. He took a moment to blink his eyes, willing away any small hope of slumber. The blanket, he pulled off, and he moved his feet to the side of his bare, lonely bed, letting his toes sink deep into the carpet before fully standing. Matthew thought that he might as finish the novel he'd been reading… he was a fast-reader, and yet he still hadn't finished, despite the week or two it had been in his possession. Realizing, dimly, that his book was residing on his kitchen table, he moaned once more. Life simply hated him, he thought, as he wandered across his wide bedroom, and took the doorknob in his hand. His other weakly searched for the shirt he had planned on wearing tomorrow, and he pulled it over his head. It went down to his knees, like he liked his shirts: big, and unrevealing. He huffed, letting his bangs puff with the short release.

Again, just like the night before, when he stood before his kitchen table, the moon's lighted shadows crawled across it, glistening off of a used glass and imploring the plate he had dejectedly left from earlier. He gripped the book, and sat heavily on one of the two chairs in the room. As he flipped pages, trying to find the right one, he pondered why his memories had chosen to come and talk to him. He hadn't asked to be haunted, day and night, by his past cases. Police officers couldn't wonder around in the pool that was emotion: they always _drowned_.

…_Like snapping out of something I didn't realize I was in_

When he had finally reached the page he had been looking for, once again fate played with his strings – a taunt knocking came on his door. What time was it? The clock told him it was nearly four o'clock… surely there were no telemarketers _that_ persistent. He put the novel down with the promise to return to it later, and hurried to the door in time with the more quick knockings. With curse words at the tip of his tongue, he pulled open the door.

Rambling and completely incoherent, Gilbert stood, his feet firmly placed together to steady himself. A lick of blood trailed from his hairline to his ear, but it was entirely too faint for either to notice. The remnants of a last beer shined from his lips, and he was motioning wildly with his hands. While his slurred words continued, his gleaming red eyes flickered.

_Was I sleeping?_

Reaching out, Matthew placed his hands on the other's shoulders, shaking a bit to get him quiet. His aggravated mood had lifted with the wind. "Gilbert," he said, soothing and firm at the same time, "What are you doing here?" Even though his glasses were residing on his bedside table – he didn't need them for reading – there was no mistaking those red eyes. He shook the other once more when there was no response.

With his breathing calm and slow, Gilbert sighed out, "Let me in…" He patted the other's head, before wrenching himself from the blonde's hands. He walked inside, his shoulder brushing against the police officer's on the way in. Unhurriedly, he made his way to the couch, planning to sit. But he fell on top of it instead, his nose pressing against the dark material. And he stayed there.

"Eh…!" Matthew hurried after him, pulling him up by his shoulders, and turning him over. He let him remain lying on his back. After pressing a hand to his forehead, he concluded that the other didn't feel like he had a fever… though his usually pale complexion was spattered with flush color in his face, neck, and ears. "Gil…" Briefly, he ghosted his fingers across the other's hair, moving the few unruly stands, so that he could fully see his face. "What's going on?"

There was a low chuckle emitted from Gilbert's throat that sounded strangled and nothing like his normal carefree laughter. "Everything's going on," he replied, laughing louder, despite his sentence being without humor; he ended with a sigh.

That only proved to worry Matthew farther. He let silence rest on them for a while, until Gilbert's choking laughter had soothed. Birds flitted across the window, causing eerie silhouettes on the dimly lightened, carpet flooring. A car passed by, casting its own light onto the scene, and the silence continued. Then Matthew asked, "You were at your favorite bar again, were you not?"

_What?_

Only a noise of affirmation replied, albeit slightly delayed.

"…I see. Drunk, maybe?"

_How can you be so sure?_

"Ha ha, yeah," Gilbert said, his words actually coming out somewhat articulate. "Totally smashed!" He threw up a hand, as if celebrating. "Whew…" He pursed his lips, his eyes flashing again, looking around the room. In his back pocket, something extremely lightweight, but so physically compacted and mentally heavy rested. It reminded him why he had come in the first place… Spoken words tore his focus.

_If you've never been here before?_

"Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert, gosh. Why come here? You know I work early," Matthew complained, trying to rid the unexplainable panicked expression that had fallen on the other's face. He succeeded. He heaved a sigh, glancing bemusedly at the other. "Hey, I've always wanted to ask…" He didn't continue, not until he saw clouded red orbs looking in his direction. "…do you remember anything you do when you wake up in the morning, you know, after getting so drunk?" The answer wasn't immediate, so he added: "I sure don't."

…_I don't understand…_

With a jerky, somewhat excessive nod, Gilbert confirmed, "Yeah, I do." His mind sung him haunting lullabies, telling him things he didn't want to hear. He remembered… everything… Suddenly, he caught sight of something in the hallway that he could see over the other's shoulder. A tall, assessable laundry hamper…. His eyes, he knew, widened at that moment.

_It can't be that easy…_

Matthew laughed, and stopped when he saw how it caused a headache to form on the other's scalp. He licked his lips, coming to a dead end in his train of thought.

Meanwhile, Gilbert's mind was alive. It pulled up intelligent sequences, showing him how easy it would be for him to just escape the condemning situation he was in… if he acted at that moment; it would all play out before him lucratively. He chewed numbly at his bottom lip, avoiding those purple eyes – _purple eyes, yes, they were in fact purple! Screaming, closing, never opening_ – he knew he'd be betraying if he did act…

_I love you, I hate you, I love you, I hate you_

Finally, Gilbert stood. Even though his mind had cleared dramatically, he needed to play the role of an inebriated gentleman. His heart tore. "Hey, Mattie…" He lowered his top eyelids, smiling more like a maniac than a friend. After poking the other's chest, he pulled the finger upward, leading the blonde's chin so he could get a better look. His unoccupied hand twitched, knowing what it had to do. A quirk that hadn't been there a moment earlier pulled at his lips. Lecherously, he leaned forward.

Flushing at the new contact, Matthew felt his skin tingle. It wasn't a completely unpleasant sensation… after the thought was conceived, his mind recoiled, and a whimper of distress climbed his throat. Easily, he suppressed it. "G-Gilbert…" He fell over his words like a beginning ballerina. "Wh… wh… what are you doing now? I m-m-mean, are you still…"

"Drunk as hell!" He lied, cutting him off loudly. Chuckling, he raised his finger to twirl it in the younger's hair. He preoccupied himself with this, and he began timed steps. When he took footsteps forward, the flustered blonde would ultimately play into his plan by stepping backward: closer, closer to the hamper. But not quite close enough… He ducked his head down, stealing a kiss – _going to hell! I'm going to hell, and Mattie's going with me! I'm dead, I'm dead _– and Matthew responded just as planned.

_I can't keep my hands off of you_

He nearly leaped backward, his eyes large, and his trembling hands covering his mouth. He took steps back – passing the hamper! – and placed his back against the wall. Stuttered words tried to escape, but nothing was understandable. His heart – it was near breaking – tried to warn him of upcoming emotions, promises and commitments by its harsh beating, but it was ignored.

With a laugh – Gilbert was having so much fun, when his own fast-beating, beat-skipping heart was concerned – he nodded. He ignored any alert signals in his mind, and moved forward. And in one, quick swipe that Matthew didn't notice – the blonde's eyes were zeroed in on the other's countenance, and his innocent and naïve heart wasn't looking for anything amiss – he took out the object from his pocket, and dumped it into the hamper. He let out – _never will be found! Safe, secure, safe_ – a heavy and quiet sigh. While he concerned himself with kissing the other again, he used his free hand to stir around the bin, making sure the object was quickly moved toward the bottom.

Not wasting any time, Matthew pushed the other away. The deep scarlet color across his face was redder than his counter-part's bloody eyes. He couldn't focus, but he managed to look up at Gilbert. He said something that came out in more of a whine: "G-Gilbert, you're d-d-drunk, stop!" He turned his head to the side, letting the next sloppy kiss hit his warm cheek. Disbelief was written plainly in his eyes when he looked back. "You will regret this in the morning," he mumbled, disappointed and embarrassed. He added as an afterthought, "And you are so incredibly lucky that I don't arrest you this very instant on two different accounts."

Getting a grip, Gilbert laughed and moved backward, making himself stumble a bit. He bent down to stare at the other evenly. "And what accounts would those be?"

There was a moment before Matthew admitted sourly, "…Driving under the influence and sexual harassment." Not wanting to see the reaction, he moved past the other with quick, uneven steps until he reached his living room. He plucked up the phone, planning to inform Gilbert's brother of his state. But he paused, since Ludwig worked with him… and he doubted that the older blonde would think twice before arresting him. He didn't have to dwell on it long, for the phone was snatched and slammed back into the receiver. His body froze, while his muscles tensed and his hair stood on end. His instincts gave him every mind to dash and get his gun from the kitchen – but he didn't move.

_I love you, I hate you, I love you, I hate you_

"Drunk driving, yes," Gilbert said easily, talking right next to the other's ear. He let his words flow like silk through the chill air before continuing. "But sexual harassment? You must be kidding." The last syllable was said lowly, putting an emphasis upon it. He couldn't spy on the other's face – he was leaning from behind him – but that only secured the fact that his face couldn't be seen either. He almost admitted that there should be another offence – something that just might send him to life in prison – but he wisely remained silent, and his heart tore a bit more. _Blood, blood, there's blood everywhere, nothing left_.

_Get back, get away from there_

He could feel his heartbeat radiating so vividly in his ears. His hands, still held before him, calmly fell to his sides. It was the only movement Matthew could manage – it took him a while to even move his lips. "…What do you mean by that?" It was a soft monotone that he spoke in, something he reserved just for moments of high tension that with one slip-up could mean death. He had only used it twice before.

Gilbert, after pulling himself away, and looking to the ceiling with a somber expression, licked his lips and said nothing. The moment was lost, and he watched as Matthew slowly regained his composure. "I'm going," he said.

_It's over_

Fiercely, Matthew shook his head. His hands shook with waves of unsettled emotion, and his eyes, like the silverette's had earlier, flashed and flickered. "N-N-No, you're under the influence. It's illegal."

"Pfft, you and your stupid laws," he mumbled, annoyed. He tried to keep his gaze from looking toward the laundry hamper behind him, and he barely was able to. With a flush of his eyes – _Matthew's going to pay so hard, he'll never talk to you again, he'll be so betrayed, angry, lost _– he brushed away all unpleasant thoughts.

_Keep calm for a moment_

"I'll call you a cab." Matthew ran into his kitchen so quickly that a small breeze flew through his frizzy locks. With his nerves shot – he had suffered such emotion damage, and those electrifying _touches_… – he realized that his telephone was actually in the living room, sitting on that table before the silverette. Just the thought of Gilbert made his skin shiver. He knew he couldn't stand to go back out into the other's presence quite yet; he'd go crazy. So he idly tapped the tips of his fingers onto the marble, and tried to remember how to breathe effortlessly… He placed a hand to his chest and repeated to himself: in, out, in, out, in… out… Just when he thought he had calmed, a shattering noise broke the serenity. A door – most likely his own – had slammed closed. Matthew hadn't even heard it open.

Quickly, with his heart quavering again, he ran into the next room. It was deserted, with only a splintered door to remind him that anyone had ever been there. He clutched at his chest again.

A cat fight began in the street, along with the _hissing, scratching and crying_.

* * *

Matthew had more trouble getting through the workday than normal. Usually, even with his lack of sleep, he could manage a smile and polite conversation to his colleges. That day, he couldn't even lift his head from his desk to look them in the eyes. It was all Gilbert's fault… His wooden desk just seemed so comfortable, and he mused that he might be able to still a moment's worth of sleep if he focused, but eventually, one of his superiors needed to talk to them. As Ludwig began speaking, Matthew tiredly shifted his head so he could get a side-way's view.

He held photographs tightly in his fist; not hard enough to crush them, but just enough to ensure their importance. "A murder," was all he said at first, sprawling the sheets onto the main table for anyone to examine at leisure. No one got up from their seat, it wasn't worth the effort. It was just another corpse, another bucketful of blood, and most likely another unfaithful lover. It happened so often that if they wanted to they would call it boring. Ludwig cleared his throat and introduced, "Roderich Edelstein. Thirty-two years old, found this morning behind a local bar. Married, no children, and called 'aristocratic' by friends. He's a pianist, and was here on vacation…" In his own opinion, Ludwig wondered why anyone would come to their dingy town to relax, but people had preferences. "Ah, blunt force trauma to the head killed 'im… killed last night, maybe early morning." He looked up, his eyebrow furrowed in disappointment when he caught sight of his lazy, unproductive team. But despite the three years he'd worked with the group, he had yet to get used to their horrible work ethics. He shook his head, for he knew it didn't concern him. "Get to work." He slammed his hand on the table – once, for show – and turned on his heel, then left. He left the door ajar, letting the hallway show in full view.

_Look in my eyes_

Unintentionally, Matthew yawned. He didn't feel like doing anything at that moment, and the request for movement was simply unappealing. Though, no matter how long he remained hunched over, his fatigue didn't bring him sleep. It was as if his subconscious was going to torture him until he began working on their assigned case… Just the sight of Gilbert's older brother had drained his mood; he couldn't help but be pessimistic toward the whole world. Slowly, he stood, his arms dropped and his glasses low on his nose. He walked over, and looked at the pictures. They were all like most crime scene photos were, nothing that intrigued him.

_Get back; get away 'cause_

But after a moment's scrutiny, he picked up one in particular. He squinted a bit, curious and uncomprehending. The light gleamed against its form, blurring a few sections, but Matthew moved it so no light was directly on it. The photo was of the back of the building, where blood was spattered like paint across its brick frame. He recognized the partial logo pasted against the wall… it was advertising a local fish market, and Matthew knew what building it was on. It was that one bar… he'd been to it, what was its name?

_This could get ugly_

The realization seized him so violently that it tore the breath from his lips. His heart stalled, and his sense of balance was forgotten. Before he could fall, he steadied himself again by clutching the table. A few of the photos moved in response, but Matthew was solely focused on the one in his frozen fingers. The name. It was the same name as the bar Gilbert had gone to that night prior. What if… Gilbert had witnessed it, and that was why he showed up so startled and crazy? He inhaled deeply. Gilbert had said he remembered everything from when he was drunk.

"…Any ideas where to start?" someone uninterestedly asked, yawning.

Matthew idly thought that the other must have had a long night as well. Timidly, he cleared his throat. "We should interview witnesses," he suggested, one already in mind. "Anyone that stayed late at the bar. Maybe they saw the victim with someone."

Suddenly, a frazzled and tearful brunette burst into the room. Security guards, who were chasing after her, followed suit. The attention of the officers in the room focused on her, and movement stilled. She sniffled, her face flushed and her hands holding a tissue. "Wh-Wh-Where's Roderich? Where's my Roderich?!" She cried, glancing around to find a kind face. Unfortunate to the blonde, she zeroed in on Matthew and ran toward him. She clutched to his shirt as if it were a lifeline. "D-Do you know?"

_If you think that I'll let you go_

Matthew, once again, felt a shock run down his spine that numbed his senses. He placed his hands soothingly on the woman's shoulders – _he was drunk, had to hold him just like this, drunk, and crazy_ – and looked imploringly into her wide green eyes. This was hard on him as well. His resolution settled in that moment – this murder, this whole ordeal included his best friend, and this poor, sobbing woman, and he told himself that he'd do anything to bring the killer behind bars with his own hands. He said quietly to her, while the rest of the group looked on, "Miss, please, would you follow these guards here? They will take you to someone who will explain everything." He plastered on a sticky-sweet smile.

She mumbled on – _he had sounded just like that, on the front step, confused, afraid, helpless_ – tears dropping from her eyes to the front of her long green dress. Nothing made sense to her, but she walked toward the other men without emotion. She was lead out of the room.

_You're out of your mind_

Silence was all that was left behind, and Matthew let the photograph slip from his fingers onto the long, brown table.

* * *

Regret. That was the liquid feeling pooling in his stomach. It made him sick, and Matthew could do nothing about it. Before the dreaded situation had to be approached, he drank three cups of water. He sucked on a mint candy. He even tried closing his eyes and meditating. But as he stood before the door, with a wide window to his left, he knew nothing had prepared him for what he would have to face. He felt like whining, but he only cleared it from his throat, and pulled open the door.

_Oh my God_

Instantly, Gilbert was standing. He had leisurely been sitting, but the surprise that had overcome him the moment he had seen that delicate face moved him to his feet. He began to nervously pace back and forth, behind the chair situated, behind the table. His mind told him that he wanted to shout, scream how unfair this all was – _he was begging for mercy, sobbing, shaking, gripping_ – but he remained silent. When Matthew sat in the other chair to face him, he snapped. "Oh, fuck, no. Don't tell me this is what I think it is!"

Matthew reached forward, and touched the space of table before the chair. "Sit," he asked, keeping his voice low and inviting. But he kept his neck bent, with his eyes trained to the slick black marble of the table. The color was so calm it nearly cooled the hot, swirling winds of thought in his mind. He tapped the material twice.

_I'm not supposed to say this…_

A scowl passed over Gilbert's mouth, twisting his lips and expressing his disgust. "Oh man, it is! Fuck." He pulled out the chair, it scraped across the floor – _a sharp, splitting sound_ – and he heavily sat. He crossed his arms, refusing to meet the gaze staring so sympathetically at him. "Fuck," he repeated, emphasizing his unease.

After biting his lip for a few moments, Matthew tenderly asked, "…Do you know why you're here, Mr. Weillschmidt?" He looked down again, spinning his finger around in incomprehensible circles against the papers he had brought with him. It served to distract him. The use of the other's surname, he hoped, would convey the message to cover their relationship to one another. It would only confuse things later.

_And I know that you're troubled, but…_

Gilbert wasn't in the mood for Matthew's games, so he decided to play one himself. He loosened his arms, and then put out his hand to gingerly touch the other's golden nametag. "Matthew Williams," he read, feeling the words create a distinct taste on his tongue – sourly sweet, and tempting. He licked his lips, and then said it again for good measure. He glanced up to meet purple orbs, and he stared them on unwaveringly. He still held the tag between two of his fingers, and his hand slightly leaned on the blonde's chest. It was a beseeching touch.

_Is that your real name?_

Matthew leaned back in his chair, breaking the touch completely. He even scooted his chair backward, if only an inch. A blush threatened his face, but he was able to persuade it away. He said coolly, "That's me, sir."

"I think it's only fair that if you come in knowing my full name and shit I should know yours."

"That is entirely fair, sir." He nodded his head, and then shifted through his papers. He pulled out a picture with the bar's own front on it. "As for why you are here. You were at this bar two days ago, correct?"

After a moment, Gilbert quietly said, "Yeah."

Matthew nodded in response, though he had known. He looked through the pile of pages again. When he found one of the photographs the wife had supplied to them to confirm the identity, he pulled it out and turned it around to face the accused. He placed it on top of the other, and he tapped it. "Did you happen to see someone looking like this man there while you were?"

_Why are you doing this?!_

Remaining impassive, Gilbert picked it up, holding it under dim lighting. Within the frame of the photo was a calmly smiling man with his fingers sprayed over the keys of an elegant piano. The man was looking over his shoulder toward the camera. Gilbert squinted. "…Yeah, I guess. But I was drunk as hell, I might not have." He dropped the picture, and it floated down until it hit the table, where it slid across to rest before the investigator. With a clenched jaw, he asked, "Why?"

He realized that he might have to spill a bit more of the information in order to spur his friend's memory. He chewed upon his bottom lip again. Honestly, he didn't want to tangle the other into the mess – but he was already mangled up pretty deep, being the witness he was. Matthew sighed, and then pulled out another photo – a crime scene photo. He put it on display to the other. "He was murdered later that night," he said, levelly. "It would be helpful if you could remember anyone he was hanging around with at the bar."

…_And how did I get here?_

Instantly a headache came down on Gilbert. He stared down at it, drinking in the image, every little detail. So gruesome and hideous, it made his stomach hurt. He could feel eyes trained onto his forehead, but he refused to raise his head. He tapped his fingers; he crossed his legs, anything to distract himself. "What the hell does this have to do with me?"

"It…" Matthew paused, pulling the image back. He knew that the other probably didn't like seeing things so disgusting, especially when he had been there when it had happened, most likely… he could have stopped it, and he could have done something. The blonde felt the upmost compassion towards the other. It must be so confusing… that explained the upsetting look that was on his face. He sighed. His duty as a friend was so comfort, but his job told him to drill the facts into the other's head. "It was most likely committed by someone who was with them shortly before." He shrugged, trying to seem apathetic, but it was jerky and hurried. "Again, do you remember anyone, sir?" _Sir._ It stung his lips.

Gilbert bent his neck to stare up at the ceiling. "Fuck, no, I don't, okay?"

He sighed. "Mr. Weillschmidt, are you sure? Anything you can remember would be entirely helpful," he pleaded, leaning forward. "Anyone at all, sir." Matthew twined his hands together, rubbing his thumbs in an effort to soothe his own nerves. He had the shaking feeling that Gilbert actually knew more than he was saying. What with that crazed visit, and how he remembered everything from when he was drunk? Hadn't he said that? If only he could say that… but that would be revealing to the others watching the conversation that they had a personal relationship – and then he'd be relieved of the case. And he didn't want that.

Looking back down, Gilbert said in a mumble, "There was this blonde man with him." The more he spoke, the more cryptic he felt. The more dirty he felt. "Yeah. He had hair about to his shoulders, and always had a sour expression. He might have done something." His glare hardened. "But I wouldn't know."

_Okay, no more questions – no worries_

Matthew let a small and grateful smile grace his lips. "Okay, thank you, Mr. Weillschmidt. This will help us greatly." He pushed everything on the table back into a neat pile, and he asked, "Is that all you've got to say? Anything else would be helpful as well."

With a growl, Gilbert glared. "No, damn it. Can I leave now?" He shifted in his seat, anxious to stand up, to leave. There was an uneasy feeling settling to heavily on his shoulders, and no matter how much he squirmed, it wasn't relieved. His hands clenched and unclenched under the table, and he looked around the room. It was small, ultimately black, with one door and one opaque window. So there was one escape route. But Matthew was sitting beside it, he couldn't run.

_It's destination: unknown_

Matthew gulped, and felt his heartbeat slowly go back to normal. He hadn't even known how nervous he had been throughout the whole thing. He opened his mouth, but the door flew open, and effectively shushed him.

"Williams, you're needed. I'll take over the interrogation," said someone from the doorway.

Instantly becoming flustered at the sight of a coworker, Matthew stood and nodded. "Y-Yes, thank you," he said, though still confused. Why was he being taken away? Judging by his friend's irritated expression, he didn't think that Gilbert could handle having anyone else besides him do the questioning. But he had never been one to protest. He almost turned to wish the other 'good-bye', but then he realized he wasn't supposed to know him. So he kept his gaze anywhere except toward the other, and slid past the man at the door until he was in the adjacent room. From there, he could see through the wide window – he could see Gilbert, hopelessly annoyed, and his coworker, sitting in front of him peacefully.

He watched, taking in the sight of Gilbert – and it was accompanied by a sharp sense of confusion. But how much his heart ached, the more he watched, was surreal.

_So dive in, the water's great_

Suddenly, someone else was in the room. One of his older coworkers – Yao Wang – simply said, "We finished interviewing the wife, aru. She was with her husband, at that bar. But she left about half an hour before her husband did…" He placed his hands firmly in his pockets, with a slice of dread weighing his mind. Sadly, he looked through the window, watching the silverette angrily shout things. "…She said that Mr. Edelstein had just begun talking to a silver-headed man with red eyes shortly before she left." He turned to the other, watching his reaction.

There was a brief flutter of his eyelids, before his lips parted in shock. His eyes – a lot wider than they had before – looked to the elder, almost helplessly. "…What does that mean, th-then?" He questioned, biting the bullet and giving his heart another reason to trip over itself. His hands clutched the papers tighter – it was the only thing he had a grip on at the moment.

"Mr. Weillschmidt's a suspect now, aru." He sighed. "What did he tell you?"

"He… he said he suspected a blonde-haired man… that he saw… with the victim," he spoke slowly, piecing things together in his mind. Ideas clashed and bent over one another. He couldn't make any sense out of any of it. The things that put themselves before him all of a sudden – _lies_ – made his heart clench.

Yao nodded. "The wife said that they had met one of Mr. Edelstein's childhood friends, who was in town, at the bar, aru, and the friend's younger sister. They were both blonde, but only the friend was male."

"Do they have alibis?"

"No."

Matthew instantly set his sights on the childhood friend. There was no way Gilbert could have committed… a murder! He stared through the glass again, watched as the silverette mocked the interrogator, unknowing that he was being watched. Matthew felt his heart stutter. Such a handsome image… there was no way he was guilty. "…We need to find those siblings, see what they know."

_Listen, I'm starting to speak like you…_

"They left town early this morning, aru."

"…Eh." Matthew pulled at his collar. When had it become so hot in the room? "…How unfortunate…"

* * *

Nothing could ease his mind. Every other thought was _guilty, guilty, guilty_. But he had no reason to think… that Gilbert… had killed the man, and then had run to his house to… establish an alibi! "Oh, gosh," he said in a sigh, running his quivering fingers through his hair. Of course, it was after midnight. He had no hope of sleeping, so he didn't bother. Matthew let his golden hair sprawl across his unused pillow, and the light crawled across his skin. The collar of his shirt he let loose – he had felt like he had a temperature since he had left work hours earlier. His skin kept tingling with some sort of… regret? He didn't know. Heavily, he closed his eyes, creating pictures, calming images. But all he could think of was: _guilty, guilty, guilty_.

He rose, fed up with his torturous thoughts. He needed something to distract him. After looking around the dark room for ideas, Matthew saw that his pile of clean clothing for the next few days… was down to two pairs of pants, and an unprofessional shirt. Laundry, he realized, would be a perfect thing to occupy his mind.

_I love you, I hate you, I love you, I hate you_

So he walked out into the hallway to pull out the pile of clothing. It was a heavy stack – the clothing must have been packed together tightly. No wonder he had been running out of shirts… he saw most of them at the bottom. Then he moved over – balancing the pile precariously – to pull open the door to his laundry room. He walked in slowly – no need to rush, he had all morning – and dropped it down on the floor. The light was flicked on, and it basked onto the clothing. Something stuck out in particular.

Matthew knelt down. He couldn't remember having a red shirt… a few red hoodies, yes, for when he walked amongst the crowd casually on Saturdays, but he didn't own any t-shirts. Eyebrows furrowed, he pulled it from the pile, and was surprised to see how it stuck to everything else. Sticky? Why was it sticky? It was as if something had dried on it while it was in the hamper… Matthew had never been careless enough to let stains sit. He pulled the other articles away from the shirt, and was appalled to find that the shirt wasn't red. It was a light purple, but just soaking in red.

Blood.

The smell was familiar to his nose.

_Blood_.

Instantly, he recoiled, and dropped it. It fell from his fingers and hit the ground in a pile. The ugly stench of blood drifted into the room, filling it to the brim. A horror overcame him, and he felt like screaming. Matthew knew he had to keep calm, but it was getting harder every moment. He thickly gulped down his apprehension and picked it back up with two fingers. It was a regular, plain, purple t-shirt. The sleeves were a bit long. The blood sticking to it was terrible. But the worst thing was that Matthew could not place why such an unfamiliar shirt, coated in blood, was in his hamper. Was it a threat from someone? A warning from someone he had sent to jail before, but was now released?

_Guilty, guilty, guilty_, his mind sang, from somewhere within the murky depths of his conscious.

_You can do no wrong_

A shout threatened to spill, and he let it out as a quiet moan. The emotion was still there. His fingers tightened around the material, as if trying to hold on the sweet innocence he had had moments earlier. With his eyes trained desperately out the window, he tried to find any other solution – anything. But he looked back down at the soiled garment in his hands… and saw that it was Gilbert's shirt. The shirt Matthew adored so much, the one that fitted so nicely to the other's features. The one the complimented his eyes, and went so alarmingly well against his hair. The one… he couldn't even think anymore. Matthew clenched his eyes shut.

* * *

"…It's Mr. Edelstein's," Kiku affirmed, slowly, reviewing the results of the DNA comparison. He dragged his finger down it, and read it line by line. "Mr. Williams, where did you say you found this?" He glanced over his shoulder, and his dark locks fell into his eyes. With another shift of his head, his hair fell back into place. It was no use to look disorderly.

Matthew sharply bit down on his tongue for a moment. Then he answered, "Ah, in a garbage bin near the… crime scene." His hands were sheltered in his back-pockets, preventing them from wringing his own neck in melancholy.

The forensic scientist gave a short, polite nod. "Alright. Then that means it was more than likely the shirt the murderer had been wearing during the attack on Mr. Edelstein. Also… I found a hair on it, which must be from the attacker since it doesn't match Mr. Edelste –"

"Kiku," Matthew interrupted, tiredly. He didn't mean to be rude, but it needed to be asked. "Why do you keep calling the victims by their names?" His expression was painted with confusion. It was always horrible if an investigator attached mentally to their clients, since it never boded well for the investigator's well-being in the end. It was why Matthew often spent nights awake.

Kiku, with a stiffness forming in his spine, didn't turn around. He mulled over the answer before quietly saying, "…If you were in the same position, wouldn't you want the same respect?"

He was about to reply, but the other continued, dropping the subject entirely. It must have become too sensitive.

"The hair was not his, so it must belong to the attacker. We can use this to identify who he is. Since the suspects gave samples of their DNA earlier… I'll compare it, and get back to you." Kiku smiled gratefully. It was just a small twist of his lips. "Thank you, Mr. Williams. You might just have broken the case."

Matthew nodded, pasting on a happy grin that wasn't his own. He turned, leaving the other's laboratory. As the door slide shut behind him, he added, "And my heart." He felt its shattered pieces falling to the floor.

Later in the day, Ludwig arrived at Matthew's desk – his face as solemn and dark as death itself. "It was Gilbert," he said, cutting to the chase with a knife that plunged into the younger's heart. "His DNA matched the one on the shirt."

Matthew, with his eyes glazed and distant, nodded. "I thought so," he said numbly, as reality settled itself on his shoulders. He knew there was no escaping… and no tears would even present themselves to ease his sorrow.

_I love you, I hate you, I love you, I hate you_

* * *

A warrant. That was what was in his hands: _a warrant for the arrest of Gilbert Weillschmidt_. They had placed it into Matthew's hands, since he had been the one to find the damning evidence – they thought that he'd simply _love_ to be the one to arrest him. And they were right. He did. He wanted to arrest the one who had murdered Roderich Edelstein, and widowed poor Elizaveta Edelstein. But he didn't want to arrest his maybe-more-than-a best friend. They told him they should try Gilbert's home. Matthew knew he wasn't there.

There was only one place Gilbert went to in times of a crisis – the dock. It was a long platform, about ten feet above the ocean. A large abandoned building was behind it, one that was rumored used to be a headquarters to some sort of gang – but the details were scarce.

That building was where Matthew was hiding. His heart was vibrating against his ribcage. The gun held between his hands was fully loaded – just in case the suspect had a firearm as well. He was wearing one of his darkest outfits that shadowed the color of his eyes. A small door leading to the outside was cracked open, spreading a thin line of light on the floor of the dark room. Matthew swore he couldn't breathe. Supportive colleges surrounded him – all of them armed to the teeth as well.

Short, gasping breaths filled the chilled air, heightening the mood to almost suffocating heights.

"He's there," said Matthew, quietly, peering through the fissure and seeing his friend's silhouette against the dock. Of course, it was sunset. His mind could think of many other things he could be doing with him – romantic walks, things of that like. But he couldn't fall from his focus, it could be dangerous. Matthew shuddered.

They waited awhile, making sure that Gilbert became comfortable at the edge of the dock, with his legs swinging. They wanted to know that they would take him by surprise. And by surprise was how they did take him.

Matthew was at the lead of the group, his gun protectively in front of him, and only when his footsteps echoed against the wood did the other turn around. A string of delicate lies was tied between them, coming most visible when their eyes connected. Matthew's were clear and wet, and Gilbert's shady and helpless. The string expanded, and then shattered as the blonde screamed, "Put your hands where we can see them! Gilbert Weillschmidt, you are under arrest for the murder of Roderich Edelstein!" The wind flew, silently, through their hair, and tousled with the collars of their clothing.

_Get back, get away from there_

The other members of the police force had copied the Canadian's pose, but none of them had the violated scowl that he did.

There wasn't a word to describe the searing hot emotion that overcame him. But whatever it was, Gilbert didn't let it show. Slowly – so that the policemen wouldn't shoot recklessly at him – he folded his feet under him, and then stood. His balanced wavered, since he had been sitting so long, but he managed to remain on the soles of his shoes, and not tumble over into the roaring sea. He licked his lips, and turned around to face everyone else. The gun in his back-pocket seemed to press so harshly against his spine. "…What in the hell are you talking about?" He kept his voice even, but so dark and raspy that it shook the souls of some of the weaker members.

Nothing fazed Matthew. "Your DNA was found on a shirt covered in the victim's blood!" He still spoke loudly, trying to speak over the wind. And the distance between them didn't help.

_It's over_

Gilbert bristled, his hair standing on end. Suddenly, he was able to feel everything, and adrenaline streamed through his blood. The whisper of the wind, the creaking cries of the dock, and the policemen's tentative shifts in position – everything, he was aware of. His eyes flickered and steered ultimately toward the blonde. He was only briefly surprised that his brother hadn't been the one leading the investigation all along.

Emotions pooled in Matthew's mind. He shook his head to clear his bangs, and try to free his mind from the agonizing bonds. His finger twitched on the trigger, but he knew he had to remain careful. Any false movement…! He clenched his teeth and called, "If we do this the easy way, you won't get hurt!"

_Keep calm for a moment_

They stared at each other – it was as if the war was only in their minds. No one said anything, until Gilbert chuckled sadistically.

"Mattie, Mattie, Mattie," he repeated, saying the word softly, like a consoling chant. His head shook, back and forth, back and forth. He looked up, his eyes shining. "You know I'm not easy!"

_Look in my eyes_

Matthew just hoped that no one else noticed that familiar tone the other had used. He shifted his weight onto one foot. The sea lapped against the woodwork below, sending a mist of saltwater their way. "Put your hands where we can see them!"

Gilbert knew, at that moment, that everything else was pointless. There was no use, his hands were tied. But with a stroke of malicious genius, he realized that his hands were as free as he wanted them to be. He gazed into the purple eyes he had grown to love, to adore, and pleaded with them to forgive him later.

_Get back, get away 'cause_

In a flash, Gilbert had his gun firmly between his fingers. And he didn't give anyone time to even shout, "Gun!" Before he let a bullet fly.

_This could get ugly_

The feeling of fiery metal burning through his skin was familiar. Matthew had felt it before. Twice in his legs, and once in his arm. But the one that split through his shoulder felt so much hotter, much more painful. He almost bent down and sobbed at the shear emotion. But he only managed a stagger in his posture. Normally, when a shot was fired – especially at the police squad – the police themselves were allowed to shoot freely. But Matthew stopped them, with one un-thought-out action.

_If you think that I'll let you go_

He ran forward – effectively blocking anyone else from shooting – with his gun back in its holster. He knew by the blood-like eyes staring straight at him, that he was expected. But he didn't care. He ran all the way down the dock with his footsteps loud and proud, until he reached the silverette. His hands fisted into the other's shirt, hands shaking him and his mind screaming. His voice was stolen by the wind, so the words only reached who they were meant to touch. "Why?!"

Gilbert placed his hands on Matthew's shoulders, a smile that was completely wistful up for display. "I was drunk and jealous." He shook his head. "They don't go well together."

Tears that Matthew had never once let show slid down his face. "…That's so sad," he said, reaching for his gun with a blood-stained arm.

Gilbert stopped him, holding his wrist so tightly that the circulation was threatened. "If I go down," he hissed, leaning forward, all sense of sanity gone from his voice. "…If I go down, honey, you're going with me."

_You're out of your mind_

Matthew was only able to tilt his head a bit, before the other's plan was revealed. Firm arms wrapped around his waist, holding him close. Then, he was propelled backward. Backward, he was falling, falling. The smell of saltwater stung his eyes, until he closed them. He screamed inaudible words, prayed and cried, fighting against the grip that held him.

But Gilbert only chuckled, and pressed a kiss to his hairline before the ocean had its way with them.

_You're out of your mind_

* * *

**A/N**:Lyrics used are from the song: _Close Up_ by Frou Frou, which I do not claim ownership of. I edited the lyrics somewhat as well.

Seventeen pages. Holy _cow_, that's a lot. I'm amazed. This idea hit me so hard that I had to write it… and it's seventeen pages, when it was supposed to be a one-shot. I knew it'd be a long one-shot, but _dang_. ...Should I separate this into two chapters, maybe...?

This is so cryptic; too… it might make more sense if you read it again. xD Also, there were a lot of little things in here that I added, but didn't explain. Because don't you hate when in stories, you have this long paragraph that just full-out explains everything? It ruins the whole mystery aspect. Though I'm guilty of doing that myself, this one had to be special.

But if you need anything explained, or want to know the full story, please don't hesitate to ask - I'll fill you in. x3 There's a whole background to this - Gilbert just didn't kill 'im 'cause he wanted to. There's a whole story behind them, but... since this is in Matthew and Gilbert's point of view, they aren't thinking about that (Matthew doesn't even _know_), so I didn't put it in.

…Is it arrogant to say that I'm really proud of this?

This has to be one of my favorites, I guess. And I'm sorry to everyone who's been waiting for an update for The Truth in Shards, but this wouldn't leave me alone. And you still get PruCan action, right? –begs for forgiveness–

Anyway, please tell me what you thought~!


	2. Author's Note: Story Explanation

**A/N**: Here. Since this doesn't make sense without an explanation, and a few people have asked for one. I didn't include any of this in the story because I really hate stories that have paragraphs just explaining everything. It makes it lose its mystery aspect, no?

Gilbert grew up with Roderich and Elizaveta, and always crushed upon Elizaveta. But he only confided this in Roderich ("Roddie"), who accepted that, despite the fact he liked Elizaveta as well. She knew nothing of their slight battle for her throughout their teenage years. But ultimately, she fell for Roderich, breaking Gilbert's heart and their friendship. Gilbert never forgave either of them, but eventually forgot about it, and grew to love Matthew.

Now, since Gilbert is drunk out of his mind and sees the two of them at the bar, emotions rise and jealousy fuels his movements. When the friends leave, and when the wife leaves, Gilbert invites Roderich out… and you know what happens.

But Gilbert's caked in blood. So, more somber than he was before, he dashes home and changes. But if the bloody shirt is found at his house, instantly, he'll be arrested! So, he thinks about visiting Matthew, and randomly dropping the shirt off there. It would bring the blame off of him, and onto Matthew, even though he doesn't want him to get in trouble. He knows that he's a police officer, but he doesn't think he'll get the case. He seduces Matthew as he leaves the shirt. Gilbert plans on Matthew finding the shirt, and just thinking Gilbert had gotten hurt or something, but that's a whole other story.

As for Kiku, while he was just studying forensics as a hobby, he had someone who he was very interested in, and on the day he planned on confessing, the person was killed – so he never got to tell them. (It's Heracles in my head!canon, but you can make it whomever you'd like.) But the thing was, during the investigation, the officers didn't seem to care at all, and so he swore to give victims and their families their due respect. And he's a naturally polite person, too.

Um, I think that's it. Ask me if you have any other questions. :)

(This was all an _Author's Note_.)


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